The Past Is Rarely Behind Us
by Exante
Summary: Sam's past comes back to bite him and now he's forced to go on the run, but Michael won't let him go alone. Eventual Michael/Sam. Some Michael/Fiona.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Sam's past comes back to bite him and now he's forced to go on the run, but Michael won't let him go alone. Eventual Michael/Sam. Some Michael/Fiona.

**The Past Is Rarely Behind Us**

**Chapter One**

Ten a.m. and the sun was already beating down on the beaches of Miami, Florida. Locals and tourists alike wore dark shades over their eyes to protect their eyes from the light reflecting of the clear white sands. Dressed in a pair of green swim shorts and an unbuttoned Havana shirt, Sam Axe lounged by a clear blue pool, soaking in the summer sun. This was what retirement was all about, he decided. Sure, he liked to help people, and he'd give Michael a hand any day, but sometimes he liked to be able to just kick back without getting chased or shot at.

"Sam Axe."

One deep brown eye cracked open to focus on the speaker addressing him. He blinked as he saw a familiar faces of two FBI agents. As always, they were dressed in stark black suits, pretty much standing out like sore thumbs. Putting on a smooth smile to cover the sudden nervousness he felt, Sam sat up on his elbows, tugging at the gold chain around his neck as it shifted with his movement.

"Hey guys. Here to buy me lunch?" he asked, keeping on a calm appearance as he reached for his drink.

"No Sam," Harris responded flatly. "You're under arrest."

Sam almost laughed. Almost... until he saw the straight faces that the feds wore. "What? What for?" His brows furrowed in confusion. Sure he'd broken the law a couple times recently, but he, Michael, and Fiona had carefully covered their tracks to all of those. They may know who it is, but they certainly didn't have the evidence to arrest anyone.

"Vietnam," Lane answered, his voice a cold snap. He reached out to grab Sam's arm, roughly pulling him out of his lounge chair.

"Vietnam?!" the ex-Marine snapped, yanking his arm away. "I haven't been there since-... since..." His eyes widened. No... no, that couldn't be right. Judging by the look on the feds faces, it was right. He should've acted smart about this. Gone with them and found a quiet way out. But instinct took over. Sam turned tail and took off running, not caring when his sandles were left behind. The pavement burned, but he hardly noticed, his mind spinning at a thousand miles a minute. Behind him he heard Harris and Lane swear and start after him.

Sam weaved through people, making sure to stay in crowds because he knew that they wouldn't shoot into them. They yelled at people to get down, but luckily not all of his skills had deteriorated. And a few years of helping Michael out had slowly gotten him back into shape, at least enough to keep him alive. Sam turned sharply down the street, smiling in relief when his caddy came into view. He slid in immediately, silently thanking anyone listening that he had the keys in his pocket. The engine roared to life as he stuck them into the ignition and he wasted no time pulling out.

He didn't even hear the angry shouts of people as he sped through traffic. His heart was pounding in his ears and adrenaline was coursing through his veins. How had they found out? Glancing in his rear-veiw mirror, he spotted a slick black vehicle driving behind him, matching his speed and starting to pick up. Shit. He slowed down a little, not wanting to get caught on TV in a high-speed chase. Instead, he turned the wheel a good 180 degrees, hitting the brakes at the same time so that the caddy spun around with a screech. Almost immediately, he hit the ignition again, glancing to the side and sending Harris and Lane a brief, guilty smile as he passed them going the opposite way.

With a good lead on them, Sam made sure to hit as many turns as possible, keeping himself concealed within the traffic. He glanced at his rear-veiw mirror again. He didn't see the black vehicle with dark-tinted windows, but he kept driving for a good 20 minutes anyways.

Finally, he came to a slow stop under a bridge. The area was pretty empty. No one really went there, as it simply led to a part of the beach with jagged rocks and too large of waves to properly enjoy. The only people that passed by was the occasional daring surfer.

Sam took a deep breath, leaning forward to pear out the windshield, up at the concrete street bridge. It was dark and it smelled vaguely of god knows what wretched thing, but right now, it was what he needed. He leaned to the side a little, opening the glove box to grab a silver cellphone. It was a cheap one with only a grainy camera as an add on, but it was secure, registered under a fake name. He liked to keep it, just in case. It seems his foresight had paid off.

He hesitated, considering calling Michael, but then thought better of it. The feds knew he and Michael were friends... they were probably listening to both his and Fiona's calls. He hesitated for a long moment before dialing a number. He closed his eyes, counting the rings. One. Two. Three.

"C'mon, pick up..." he begged softly to no one in particular.

Four rings.

_Hey, this is-_

Sam was about to hang up when the voice mail cut off.

"_Hello? This is Nate._"

The ex-Marine smiled in relief. "Nate. Uh... hey. This is Sam. Sam Axe."

He almost laughed softly, able to actually hear the smile in the kid's voice. "_Oh, Sam. Whatcha doing calling me? Michael's not in trouble, is he_?"

"Uh, no, no he's not." Sam took a deep breath. "I kind of am. Look... I just...." He closed his eyes, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just call Mikey, alright? Don't mention my name. Just tell him his buddy's still owes him a drink, so he'd better call.

Just as he heard it come, Sam could hear the smile fade away. "_Er... yeah, sure Sam. Everything alright? Anything I can do_?"

"Nah Nate, thanks though. Just do me this favor, alright?" He was a good guy... Took after his older brother, Sam supposed.

"_Sure thing, Sam. Call me if you need anything, alright?_"

"I will, Nate." No, he probably wouldn't. It was already bad enough that he was dragging Michael into this. He didn't want to drag his family in too. "Thanks. Talk to you later."

"_Bye._"

The other line went dead. Sam took a deep breath, hanging up his phone. Both of his hands moved to grip the steering wheel, despite the fact that he wasn't going anywhere. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on his knuckles and just letting everything process. There were very few people who knew about what had happened in Vietnam. One of them had obviously let something slip. The idea caused anger to well up inside of him. Someone had betrayed him... but the feeling was followed closely by fear.

Now what?

He turned the phone all the way up so that he couldn't possibly miss a call and climbed out of the caddy, kneeling down to reach under the seat. A pistol was stashed beneath. He just had to be ready, he supposed.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Past Is Rarely Behind Us**

**Chapter Two**

Michael Westen didn't have many days off. Between making enough money to pay for both his rent and god-knows what for his mother, and trying to find the bastards that burned him, free time just wasn't exactly bountiful. Or desired, for that matter. Michael was never good at sitting still. Unfortunately, there were no jobs readily available and he was still waiting to her from a contact, leaving him with one dull day.

After much pushing from Fiona, and one very long inner-debate, he'd finally decided to go to his mother's house to help her with the things she's oh so subtly been hinting she needed done but couldn't do. By this he meant, of course, that whenever Michael brought 'clients' over, she would give long, sorrowful sighs, but tell anyone who asked that nothing was wrong… unless that someone was Michael, and on occasion, Sam. She was still mad at him for blowing up her house, after all, and had no qualms about putting him to work.

Michael gritted his teeth, wondering how after a lifetime of emotions carefully concealed to keep from blowing his cover, his mom managed to bring out every frustration in him. Still, he said nothing, carefully adjusting the bookcase into the position he'd been instructed to. "There, Mom?"

Madeline studied its new location with a careful eye. "Maybe a little to the right?"

Michael sent her a look. "Mom, if I move it any more to the right, it'll be on top of the entertainment center."

She took a drag of her cigarette, considering. "You're right… Maybe if you move the entertainment center…"

Michael considered going up to the roof he had to fix and jumping off of it. He was beginning to figure out if that would end his life or just break a bunch of bones when his phone went off.

__

…And said I'm sorry that you have to push me home.

And I said hey, that's what brothers are for.

Michael could've blushed at the smirk his mother sent him as she heard his ring tone.

"That's cute Michael."

Grumbling, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to answer it. "What is it, Nate?" he asked silently hoping that he wouldn't have to bail him out of trouble.

"_Michael... I just… I got this call. Kind of important._"

A call? Michael furrowed his brows in confusion. What important call would Nate get that involved him? "What is it, Nate?" he asked, already grabbing the keys to the charger.

"Is Nate in trouble?" Madeline asked, immediately worried about her youngest son.

"_Look, I don't know what it means, but I guess you probably do. He said…"_ Nate cursed quietly on the other line, trying to remember the exact words. "_He said that your buddy still owes you a drink, so you need to call. Okay?_"

Michael almost stopped dead in his tracks. "I have to go Nate."

"_Alright, Michael… Good luck, okay?_"

"Thank you, Nate." Michael hung up the phone.

"Michael!" Madeline repeated urgently. "Is your brother in trouble?"

"No," Michael rubbed his eyes. "Sam is. I have to go, Mom." He didn't wait for a response, hurrying out of the house before she could ask any questions. It was such a simple code, one among Fiona, Sam and himself. They developed it after the two of them started getting dragged into his Burn Notice mess. It meant one thing: something's wrong.

He slid into the charger, pulling out almost immediately to find the nearest stand that would sell him a cell phone. Getting into town, it wasn't difficult. He climbed out, smirking wryly as he saw a young woman at the stand sending him a strange look. She recognized him.

"Let me guess, you'd like a 'Hello Sweetheart'?"

Michael held out the money and she rolled her eyes, handing him the cheap pink phone. He wasted no time getting back to the car and dialing the secure number he'd memorized long ago.

-

Sam nearly jumped out of his skin as his phone went off. His senses were still on high alert, waiting for any kind of danger. He silently thanked Nate for making the call so quickly, though.

He grabbed the phone, holding it to his ear. "Hello?"

"_Sam?_" Sam smiled as he heard the relief in his friend's voice. He was probably just glad to hear that he was still alright for now.

"'Yeah Mikey, it's me." He felt his own wave of relief, resting his forehead against the steering wheel once more.

_Sam, what's wrong?"_

The retired Seal closed his eyes, feeling a bit of shame wash over him. "Mikey, I…" he shook his head. "Look, I just… Remember our FBI buddies?"

_"… Yes."_

"Well… they've got a new favorite." Sam told him, chuckling, though there was no humor behind it. "I'm in some trouble, Mike… I need your help."

_"Sam… what did you do?"_

Sam winced at the completely calm tone that Michael used. "It was a long time ago, Mikey, okay? I… I told you a little bit, remember? I just… I did some bad things when I was younger, and… and it just got out."

There was a deep sigh on the other line. _"Alright, Sam. I expect a full explanation later though. Where are you?"_

"I know. Wouldn't drag you into this without an explanation." Sam looked up at the concrete bridge. "I'm under the road bridge, heading North to the rougher part of the beach."

_"I'll be right there."_

"Don't bring the charger."

"_I know, Sam_," Michael answered patiently. He knew that already, but he understood Sam being nervous about the entire thing._ "I'll see you soon… Don't worry, alright?"_

"Alright." Sam took a deep breath, sitting up straight. "Thanks Mikey."

_"Any time, Sam."_

Hanging up the phone, Sam considered his situation. He didn't want to explain to Michael the kinds of things he'd been involved in. They were supposed to be in the past. He'd received a promise from a friend -- a friend they'd helped only a couple years ago! -- that nothing would be said.

"Damn it," he hissed under his breath, banging a fist on the dashboard. This wasn't how his retirement was supposed to go. He wasn't supposed to be running from the feds for something that happened 30 years ago. He was supposed to be sitting on the beach drinking mojitos and picking up scantily-clad women.

Karma just had a way of biting you in the ass, didn't it?

Shaking his head, Sam climbed out of the caddy, peering down at his beloved vehicle. So much money and time had been put in, fixing her after all the crap she'd been through. It pained him to know that he would have to give her up. She was registered to his name, after all. It would be way to easy for them to find him in it.

Oh, how cruel the world is.

For now, Sam spent his time, well… pacing. There wasn't a whole lot more he could do while waiting. It was a good half hour before a silver Volkswagen with tinted windows pulled up next to his Cadillac. Michael climbed out his eyes doing a once-over of his friend. He was still dressed for the pool and-

"You know, there could be broken glass here," Michael pointed out, looking down at Sam's bare feet.

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes. "The sandals came off while I was running."

"Ah."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck. "They caught me while I was at the pool. I didn't exactly have time to change. My clothes are still over there."

"At least button up your shirt," Michael responded. "And get what you need out of the Cadillac."

Sam cringed, knowing that meant that they'd be leaving the car behind. Unfortunately, there wasn't much he could do about it. He climbed back into the caddy, carefully cleaning it of stuff he would need. Mostly it was just his wallet, the cell phone, and the gun, although he also had an extra wallet that had a fake ID under the name of 'Charles Finley'. One never knew what they would need after all.

Michael watched silently, sympathizing with his friend. He didn't know if the love of the car simply came with… well… the car, or if some of the emotional attachment came from the fact that Veronica had given it to him. Sure, they'd broken up a while ago, but he knew that it wasn't often that Sam got that close to a girl.

"Alright, let's go," Sam sighed, giving the car one last affectionate pat before climbing in to the passenger's side of the Volkswagen.

Michael nodded, sliding into the driver's seat and beginning to pull out. "First we're going to get you some clothes."

"Except my pension's probably blocked and you don't exactly have money to spare yourself, Mikey," Sam pointed out, frowning.

"I'll have enough." Michael sighed heavily, glancing to the side. Sam looked nervous, peering out the windows. Every one of his senses was alive and alert. He was scared. "Don't worry, Sam. We'll handle this."

"I know."

It wasn't very convincing. Michael shook his head. "Well… start explaining to me so I know what we're dealing with here."

There was an uncomfortable shift in the seat next to him. Michael knew Sam was ashamed of whatever he'd done. "It was around thirty years ago, I don't know, maybe more or less…" he responded, crossing his arms over his chest. "I was a stupid kid. The war had ended a little while ago and I was stationed there in Vietnam for a bit. Long story short, Mikey, I got involved in some… drug trading between Vietnam and the states."

Michael slammed on the breaks, pulling off to the side and nearly sending Sam into the dashboard. He turned to look at the older man, narrowing his eye. "Drug trafficking over borders, Sam? You realize what the penalty for that is in both countries don't you?"

Sam gave a short nod, his eyes turned forward, unable to look at Michael right now. "You don't have to help, Mikey. I shouldn't have dragged you in."

He tried to keep glaring at him, tried to be angry… but he couldn't. Not when Sam looked so pathetic and scared, his hands fisted to keep from shaking. He sighed, turning his attention back to the road. "You know I won't let you do this alone, Sam. Not after everything you've done for me."

Sam closed his eyes, smiling ruefully. "Thanks Mikey."

"Don't mention it, Sam."

Michael's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, turning his knuckles white. Old regulations spun in his head, reminding him. For the federal crime of trafficking drugs across borders, if guilty, the accused received capital punishment. Death.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Past Is Rarely Behind Us**

**Chapter Three**

Things can't always go the way you would like them to. This, of course, is a fact that Michael had long ago learned that you can not change. With a crappy childhood, an extremely dangerous career and more recently, his burn notice, it was a law of life that he knew all too well. One had to actively work to fix these ways because the universe wasn't suddenly going to decide that you need a break. Not always convenient, not even always rewarding, but there was nothing else you could do.

Despite knowing all of this, it never became less frustrating.

"You know you have to go into hiding, Sam," Michael said after a long moment of silence. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam, watching passer-bys dressed in bathing suits and enjoying the Miami sun. He would've liked to be out there too. Retiring usually meant relaxation, enjoying the rewards for all the work you had done, and Michael knew that Sam had done a lot in his 51 years of life.

"I know," he answered.

Michael sympathized with him. Maybe he had done some bad things when he was younger, but he knew that Sam had a good heart. He was one of the few people that really deserved a chance to just lie around and not have to worry about their life. Sure peopled chided him a lot for his womanizing and his drinking, but back in the day, Sam had done a damn good job. He would know. He'd worked with him on multiple occasions. Flexing his hands around the wheel, he nodded. "Miami's not a big place, Sam..."

"I know," Sam repeated, raising a hand to rub his eyes. They both knew what that meant. He'd have to go somewhere else.

Michael couldn't follow. If he did then it would only triple their problems. FBI would be on red-alert looking for both of them, and who knew about the people that had burned him? After he got him started... Sam would be on his own. Michael hated to do it, but they had no choice right now.

Finally, on the outskirts of the city, Michael pulled up across the street from an old thrift store. It was perfect. Low prices, and Michael didn't see any law enforcement around. He was about to climb out with Sam when- "Damn it!"

Sam stopped, already half-way out of the vehicle. "What's wrong, Mikey?" he asked, peering around nervously.

Michael sent him an apologetic smile, not having meant to make the man's nerves jump. "Nothing Sam, calm down. I just forgot I'm supposed to meet Fiona."

Sam relaxed a little and nodded, sliding the rest of the way out of the Volkswagen. "Ah. Snagged you on your day off, did she?"

Michael nearly laughed. All that was going on and Sam was still able to tease him a little. It put him at some ease. They were used to bad situations. They could get out of this. "I've got to call her." He reached into his wallet, pulling out sixty dollars and handing it to Sam. "Find some clothes and come back to the car. I know it's not in your nature, Sam, but try to be inconspicuous."

With a wry smile, Sam nodded. Unfortunately, having no good place to put his gun, he was forced to leave it in the car. "Do me a favor. You can tell her I'm in trouble, just... keep the details to yourself?" Sure, he and Fiona were friends, kind of, but that didn't mean he wanted to hear what she had to say about his past.

"Alright Sam. I'll be right there," Michael promised, taking out the cheap phone he'd bought. He dialed in the number of the secure phone he knew Fiona had. Hopefully she had hers with her, unlike he had. He'd hate to alert the feds by calling her normal cell phone. There were a few rings and finally, the phone was answered.

"_Let me guess. This is Michael Westen and our date was ruined because something came up that we just can't get out of._"

Michael smiled faintly. "Hi Fiona," he answered pleasantly to her annoyed tone. "Look, it's not my fault, alright."

"_No, of course not. It never is._"

He glanced up, his eyes flickering ot the thrift store, making sure everything was okay. Satisfied that Sam was in no danger, he returned his attention to the call. "Fi, Sam is in trouble."

That seemed to perk her interest. Obviously, she'd thought it had something to do with him being burned. "_Is he? Now what could he have done to piss someone off?_" the tone was completely sarcastic, of course.

Michael sighed. "It's kind of a long story, Fi. Just some stuff from his past. I promised I'd keep the details to myself."

He could hear her pout on the other line, but she knew there would be no getting it out of him now. Once Michael Westen made a promise, he kept it. "_Oh, alright._" There was a brief pause before she let her softer side show through a little, the slightest bit of concern in her tone. "_Is everything alright with him?_"

The former spy couldn't help but smile. "Right now, there are feds after him. He's scared," he answered, the smile fading as quickly as it came as he thought of his friend, usually so easy-going. Sam was always one to roll with the punches. It wasn't often you saw him like this. The last time Michael remembered it was a couple years ago, just before he went to meet Carla, when they'd saved him from those bastards holding him hostage.

Three days of getting beat up and unable to do anything, convinced that that was how he was going to leave the world. Alone, tied to a chair, and in pain. Hell, he'd been more than convinced, he'd wanted to make sure, just so that Michael and Fiona wouldn't be put in danger. Michael closed his eyes, gritting his teeth at the memory. All of that and Sam didn't break down once. Not until they were alone in the Cadillac.

Was he convinced this time too?

"_Michael?_"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Michael remembered he was still on the phone with Fiona. "Sorry... Distracted. He's scared, but... for now, okay. He has to run, Fiona."

There was a brief silence on the other line. "_Are you okay, Michael?_"

"I hate to leave him alone," Michael answered, releasing a heavy sigh. "He's done a lot for me, Fiona. And I can't do anything else for him but send him on his way."

"_You could do more,_" she pointed out softly.

"Not without getting even more feds on us, and probably ruining my chance at finding the people that burned me," he responded, frustration entered his voice.

"_I know getting your job is important to you, Michael... But do you know what it's doing to you? Look at the kind of people you've been working with._"

Thinking about Strickler, Michael gritted his teeth. "I know Fi..."

"_Do you really want to keep going down that path?_"

-

Sam kept his head down a little bit as he entered the little store. He was careful not to look suspicious in doing this, just maybe a little closed off. It wasn't as if it took him long to pick clothes. He was choosing for convenience, not style. Jeans, t-shirt, sweater, jacket, socks, shoes. Subtle and precautionary for weather. Should it be warmer he always had what he was wearing now. However, with a little extra money, he also bought some slightly nicer clothes, just in case. It went a little over what Michael had given him, but luckily, he still had a bit of money in his own wallet.

He glanced toward the register and his heart stopped a moment. There was an officer at the counter, talking to the clerk. Chances were the local law-enforcement had been told to look out for him. Slightly frustrated by his bad luck, Sam pretended to poke around a little more, trying to just stay discreet.

Luck was not on his side today. He turned the corner around a bookshelf and-

Sam took a step back to keep from running into the officer, blinking. "Er, hi."

"Can I see some ID sir?" the officer asked calmly.

He was careful not to show any trace of his nerves. Luckily, he was used to playing parts. "What for officer?" he asked, feigning curiosity even as he reached for the 'extra' wallet he had, opening it to show the man the ID of 'Charles Finley'.

"We're looking for someone," the officer answered, watching him with a suspicious eye. "You fit the description. Charles, huh?"

"Chuck, actually," Sam smiled. "'Fraid I'm not your guy."

"I think you'd better come with me anyway, sir."

Crap. "Uh... I'm kind of running late for this-"

"Now, 'Chuck'."

Well, this guy just wasn't cooperative. Damn it. "Oh... uh, okay." He quietly allowed the officer to push him toward the door, waiting. They were almost there when he glanced back at the officer, sensing that his gaurd was down because of the lack of struggle. Gritting his teeth, Sam shifted what he had to one arm, and drove his elbow unto the officer's solar plexus, effectively dropping him to the ground. "Sorry," he smiled apologetically, really not having wanted to hurt the guy. He dropped the money for the clothes on the counter and hurried out. He probably gave to much, but now was not the time to stall.

Out the door, Sam started quickly toward the Volkswagen. He cursed himself for leaving his sandals behind, the pavement hot on the soles of his feet.

_BANG!_

Sam gasped sharply as a pain shocked through his body.

-

The sound of gunfire immediately got Michael's attention. He looked up, his eyes widening as he saw Sam fall to his knees. No. No, no, no. "One sec, Fi," was all he said, dropping the phone and screeching out of his parking spot.

"_Michael?!_"

Fiona sounded panicked, but he couldn't exactly speak right now. Looking up, he saw the officer holding the gun. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he turned the direction he was driving toward the man. He had no intention of hitting him, just scaring him, which seemed to work. The officer quickly ran back into the store, giving him time to turn around, stopping between Sam and the building.

He climbed out, dropping down beside the ex-Seal. "C'mon Sam." He'd worry about the severity of the wound later. He shifted on of Sam's arms over his shoulders and hefted him up, quickly helping him into the car as he held on to the clothes. No use leaving them when he went through all that trouble, right? Michael wasted no time speeding off quickly. They'd have to switch vehicles soon. For now, "Give me a rating, Sam, how bad is it?"

"Pain wise? Eight. Four," Sam answered, clutching his wounded shoulder. "Worse than it looks, nothing major."

Michael reached down for his phone, "Fiona, you still there?"

"_Yes Michael, I'm still here, is everything alright?_"

"Sam got shot. He's fine, but we need you to meet us. You know that warehouse on 12th street?"

"_I'll be right there._"

"See you then." Michael hung up the phone, glancing at Sam. He could see the pain in his expression and his chest clenched. He couldn't let Sam do this alone.

-

Michael pulled up next to the warehouse. Fiona was already waiting, sitting on the hood of a beat-up truck that she'd more than likely stolen. Which was fine. Michael had stolen the Voltswagen too. He climbed out of the car, moving around to help Sam out. He was starting to look pale from loss of blood. He had to work quickly.

"I brought some stuff to help with that bullet wound," Fiona said, grabbing a dufflebag from the passenger's seat of the truck and dropping it on the hood of the Voltswagen.

"Uh, Mikey, can you remove the bullet?" Sam asked. "No that I don't trust you Fi, it's just- fuck!" He cringed as she punched him in the arm closest to his bullet wound, tears springing up into his eyes.

"Play nice, Fi," Michael told her, openening the bag, relieved to find that it had other supplies. Still, he dug out what he needed: rubbing alcohol, a knife, a pencil, and a rag. He handed the pencil to Sam.

Knowing the drill already, Sam put the pencil in his mouth, biting down on it as he shrugged off his shirt. It was a little difficult, seeing as he couldn't use his left arm without hurting himself. Michael poured the alcohol over the rag, using it to clean around the wound before sterilizing the knife. "Ready, Sam?" A soft grunt of reply. Taking that as a yes, Michael dug the tip of the knife into the wound.

Sam groaned in pain, resting his hands on the Voltswagen to steady himself as he bit down on the pencil.

"Quit being such a baby," Fiona told him, reaching into the bag to pull out a needle and what appeared to be fishing line. "I'll handle the stitches. You suck at it, Michael."

Hearing the bullet click on top of the car, Sam took a deep breath, removing the pencil from his mouth. "I'd rather take Mike's horrible stitching than your abuse."

Michael rolled his eyes. "Promise to be nice, Fiona?"

Fiona pouted, but she must've actually been worried about Sam, because she nodded in agreement. "Fine." Sam was reluctant, but he held still as she started to work, placing the pencil back in his mouth just in case. It still hurt, of course, there was no way it couldn't, but he was surprised at how gentle she was with it.

Michael ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly. "We have to get going soon."

Fiona started wrapping Sam's shoulder, giving a nod. Sam wasn't as easy to agree. "I've got it from here, Mikey. I think I should probably get out of Miami as soon as possible."

"You're hardly in any condition to drive," Michael cut in immediately. "You're not going alone."

With his shoulder wrapped, Sam turned to face him, a frown tilting his lips downward. "No way. If you leave Miami, any chance you have of getting your job back is down the drain." Still feeling slightly faint, he leaned against the Voltswagen, closing his eyes. "I can take care of myseslf."

Fiona rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. She sent Sam a dubious look. "You can't even stand right now, Sam," she pointed out. "Let alone run from the government."

Michael nodded his agreement. "I can't just leave you Sam, not after everything you've done for me." He opened the Voltswagen, starting to gather their things to transfer them into the truck. "Your life is more important than me getting my job back."

"Your life back," Sam pointed out quietly, watching the younger man. He had a stiff upper lip, but he couldn't deny the grattitude he felt, hearing Michael say that. "The life you've been trying to get back for several years now."

"Shut up, Sam," Fiona told him dryly, grabbing the back she'd brought and moving it back to the truck. "You wouldn't last two days out there on your own. Just let Michael help you."

Michael handed Fiona the keys to the Voltswagen. "Barbara street," he told her. "You'll keep an eye on things around here?"

Giving a long suffering sigh, she popped her hip out, resting a fist on it. "I suppose."

"I appreciate it, Fi," Michael told her, smiling. He glanced to the side where Sam was. "And so does Sam."

Sam opened his eyes again, smiling awkwardly. "Yeah..." He shifted off the Voltswagen. "I do."

Fiona tried to keep firm and aloof, but she couldn't help the way her eyes softened. "You'd better not let anything happen to Michael."

Sam chuckled, giving a short nod. She took Michael's hand, leaning toward him to kiss him on the cheek. As she passed Sam, she patted his good shoulder briefly. "Be careful." She slid into the Volkswagen, waiting until Sam moved to begind pulling out.

Michael watched her go, sighing softly. "How're you feeling, Sam?"

"Tired. Sore..." The former Navy Seal rubbed his hand over his face. "Scared..."

"I know," Michael rested a hand on his bag, starting to lead him toward the truck.

"You're a good friend, Mikey."

"You'd do the same for me."

Sam smiled wryly, remembering a conversation like this one they'd had a couple years back. "Damn right I would."


End file.
